Cast Adrift. Arthur Timothy Shay

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ all over with unrestrained laughter. “The fattest pigeon I’ve happened to see for a month of Sundays. Is she very rich?”

      “Her husband is, and that’s all the same. And now, Pinky”—Mrs. Bray assumed a mock gravity of tone and manner—“you know your fate—New Orleans and the yellow fever. You must pack right off. Passage free and a hundred dollars for funeral expenses. Nice wet graves down there—keep off the fire;” and she gave a low chuckle.

      “Oh yes; all settled. When does the next steamer sail?” and Pinky almost screamed with merriment. She had been drinking.

      “H-u-s-h! h-u-s-h! None of that here, Pinky. The people down stairs are good Methodists, and think me a saint.”

      “You a saint? Oh dear!” and she shook with repressed enjoyment.

      After this the two women grew serious, and put their heads together for business.

      “Who is this woman, Fan? What’s her name, and where does she live?” asked Pinky Swett.

      “That’s my secret, Pinky,” replied Mrs. Bray, “and I can’t let it go; it wouldn’t be safe. You get a little off the handle sometimes, and don’t know what you say—might let the cat out of the bag. Sally Long took the baby away, and she died two months ago; so I’m the only one now in the secret. All I want of you is to keep track of the baby. Here is a five-dollar bill; I can’t trust you with more at a time. I know your weakness, Pinky;” and she touched her under the chin in a familiar, patronizing way.

      Pinky wasn’t satisfied with this, and growled a little, just showing her teeth like an unquiet dog.

      “Give me ten,” she said; “the woman gave you thirty. I heard her say so. And she’s going to bring you seventy to-morrow.”

      “You’ll only waste it, Pinky,” remonstrated Mrs. Bray. “It will all be gone before morning.”

      “Fan,” said the woman, leaning toward Mrs. Bray and speaking in a low, confidential tone, “I dreamed of a cow last night, and that’s good luck, you know. Tom Oaks made a splendid hit last Saturday—drew twenty dollars—and Sue Minty got ten. They’re all buzzing about it down in our street, and going to Sam McFaddon’s office in a stream.”

      “Do they have good luck at Sam McFaddon’s?” asked Mrs. Bray, with considerable interest in her manner.

      “It’s the luckiest place that I know. Never dreamed of a cow or a hen that I didn’t make a hit, and I dreamed of a cow last night. She was giving such a splendid pail of milk, full to the brim, just as old Spot and Brindle used to give. You remember our Spot and Brindle, Fan?”

      “Oh yes.” There was a falling inflection in Mrs. Bray’s voice, as if the reference had sent her thoughts away back to other and more innocent days.

      The two women sat silent for some moments after that; and when Pinky spoke, which she did first, it was in lower and softer tones:

      “I don’t like to think much about them old times, Fan; do you? I might have done better. But it’s no use grizzling about it now. What’s done’s done, and can’t be helped. Water doesn’t run up hill again after it’s once run down. I’ve got going, and can’t stop, you see. There’s nothing to catch at that won’t break as soon as you touch it. So I mean to be jolly as I move along.”

      “Laughing is better than crying at any time,” returned Mrs. Bray; “here are five more;” and she handed Pinky Swett another bank-bill. “I’m going to try my luck. Put half a dollar on ten different rows, and we’ll go shares on what is drawn. I dreamed the other night that I saw a flock of sheep, and that’s good luck, isn’t it?”

      Pinky thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out a worn and soiled dream-book.

      “A flock of sheep; let me see;” and she commenced turning over the leaves. “Sheep; here it is: ‘To see them is a sign of sorrow—11, 20, 40, 48. To be surrounded by many sheep denotes good luck—2, 11, 55.’ That’s your row; put down 2, 11, 55. We’ll try that. Next put down 41 11, 44—that’s the lucky row when you dream of a cow.”

      As Pinky leaned toward her friend she dropped her parasol.

      “That’s for luck, maybe,” she said, with a brightening face. “Let’s see what it says about a parasol;” and she turned over her dream-book.

      “For a maiden to dream she loses her parasol shows that her sweetheart is false and will never marry her—5, 51, 56.”

      “But you didn’t dream about a parasol, Pinky.”

      “That’s no matter; it’s just as good as a dream. 5, 51, 56 is the row. Put that down for the second, Fan.”

      As Mrs. Bray was writing out these numbers the clock on the mantel struck five.

      “8, 12, 60,” said Pinky, turning to the clock; “that’s the clock row.”

      And Mrs. Bray put down these figures also.

      “That’s three rows,” said Pinky, “and we want ten.” She arose, as she spoke, and going to the front window, looked down upon the street.

      “There’s an organ-grinder; it’s the first thing I saw;” and she came back fingering the leaves of her dream-book. “Put down 40, 50, 26.”

      Mrs. Bray wrote the numbers on her slip of paper.

      “It’s November; let’s find the November row.” Pinky consulted her book again. “Signifies you will have trouble through life—7, 9, 63. That’s true as preaching; I was born in November, and I’ve had it all trouble. How many rows does that make?”

      “Five.”

      “Then we will cut cards for the rest;” and Pinky drew a soiled pack from her pocket, shuffled the cards and let her friends cut them.

      “Ten of diamonds;” she referred to the dream-book. “10, 13, 31; put that down.”

      The cards were shuffled and cut again.

      “Six of clubs—6, 35, 39.”

      Again they were cut and shuffled. This time the knave of clubs was turned up.

      “That’s 17, 19, 28,” said Pinky, reading from her book.

      The next cut gave the ace of clubs, and the policy numbers were 18, 63, 75.

      “Once more, and the ten rows will be full;” and the cards were cut again.

      “Five of hearts—5, 12, 60;” and the ten rows were complete.

      “There’s luck there, Fan; sure to make a hit,” said Pinky, with almost childish confidence, as she gazed at the ten rows of figures. “One of ‘em can’t help coming out right, and that would be fifty dollars—twenty-five for me and twenty-five for you; two rows would give a hundred dollars, and the whole ten a thousand. Think of that, Fan! five hundred dollars apiece.”

      “It would break Sam McFaddon, I’m afraid,” remarked Mrs. Bray.

      “Sam’s got nothing to do with it,” returned Pinky.

      “He hasn’t?”

      “No.”

СКАЧАТЬ